Phoenix
by heartsways
Summary: Amalgamation of a few prompts for 5 sentence fics. You'll have to guess which ones, but it's not hard and if you get it right, there's no prize. I know, I know; I'm really mean. I could at least give a chocolate to those who guess correctly, couldn't I? Some angst, some sex, some overly descriptive language. In other words: the usual. Also, tense changes denotes time change.
1. 1: With Broken Wings

**Title:** Phoenix  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: ** Amalgamation of a few prompts for 5 sentence fics. You'll have to guess which ones, but it's not hard and if you get it right, there's no prize. I know, I know; I'm really mean. I could at least give a chocolate to those who guess correctly, couldn't I? Some angst, some sex, some overly descriptive language. In other words: the usual. Also, tense changes denotes time change. I'm doing that thing again.

**Chapter 1: With Broken Wings**

Regina was as single-minded in pregnancy as she ever was before, sticking to her routine with a dogged determination. Because it didn't matter if her ankles were swollen, or if she felt as though she'd run a marathon after merely hoisting herself out of bed and slowly struggling into the ugly maternity clothes she'd been forced to buy. It didn't even matter that the smell of the scrambled eggs she was stirring on the stove was threatening to kickstart her morning sickness. She gritted her teeth and focused on the task at hand: the routine.

It was silly, really. Her routine as was didn't even exist anymore; at least, not in the way it had originated. Not since her family had grown to encompass three instead of just two. Regina flinched as she felt a flutter in her belly and couldn't stop the smile that spread across her lips. Make that _four_, instead of three, she corrected herself. And even beyond _that_, there was Snow and Charming and a whole host of other people who claimed familial bonds which transcended mere blood.

The smile fell from her lips as she stirred the eggs a little more vigorously, tamping down on the rising nausea in her throat. One day, in a moment of pure, earnest truth, Henry had told her that maybe Destiny had always meant for her and Snow to be family again. But this time, he'd added, it was in a way that meant _everyone_ got their happy ending. Regina had wanted to refute his claim and dismiss Snow's presence in her life as a roadblock rather than some sort of yellow brick road to happiness. But Henry had laughed and said that his book of fairytales had never envisaged or described a happy ending like this one, where the Savior and the Evil Queen joined together to make something amazing.

It was like magic, he'd said, with such wonder in his voice that Regina had found herself speechless, choked by the way he looked at her and how his arms slid around her neck.

The toaster popped up two slices of crisp whole grain bread, startling Regina out of her reverie and she frowned, shaking the pan on the stove top as the eggs inside it sizzled. _Magic_, she thought wryly to herself. Or the simplicities of biology and a lot of money, she added. But one hand smoothed over the apron she wore and, beneath it, the rounded swell of her belly reminded her that miracles sometimes _did_ happen, with or without the help of doctors and science.

She nodded, pleased with herself, and took the pan of eggs off the stove, setting them to one side. Before she could reach for the toast, a pair of arms snaked around her ever-expanding waist and there was the firm warmth of a body against her own. Emma's chin dropped onto her shoulder and Regina forced a smile onto her face because this was something she was still getting used to: intimacy instead of intimidation; companionship instead of enmity. The openness of affection was always something she craved and, now that she had it, Regina sometimes felt smothered by it.

Regina stood immobile for a few, painfully long seconds before she sighed, exasperated. "Emma…dear…" she said slowly, as the body behind her shifted a little and Emma's hair tickled her neck, "…I'm **trying** to make breakfast and you're not helping by draping yourself all over me."

"I'm not draping," Emma murmured, pressing a wet mouth to Regina's neck. "I'm hugging."

"I know, dear," Regina said, "but really, it's…Emma…please, will you just…please let me **go**!"

Finally she squirmed out of Emma's embrace and busied herself with coffee cups, with the scrambled eggs that tumbled into the waiting dish and the toast that was rapidly cooling as she slid it onto a plate. The silence behind her was deafening; thick in its intensity and the way it began to solidify like a wall. It wasn't Emma's fault, of course, Regina told herself. It wasn't _Emma_ who stifled her. No; that was a hesitation of her own design.

By the time she turned around, Emma was standing in the middle of the kitchen, having backed away at least five or six paces. She looked distinctly crestfallen, feet shuffling on the floor and head dropped onto her chest. Regina instantly felt guilty, then resentful, blaming it on her raging hormones and not on the fact that she _should_ feel guilty, that she_ should_ apologize and that she _should _somehow atone.

Regina took a breath and counted to five in her head. Dr. Hopper had taught her that as a coping mechanism. Sometimes it even worked.

"I'm sorry," Regina finally forced out. "I'm just not used to being…"

She swallowed, cleared her throat and steeled herself under the weight of Emma's woeful gaze, now fixed upon her features.

"Being touched," she finished her sentence and frowned as Emma's eyes narrowed slightly. "I mean, being touched so frequently and so…so much," she qualified. Her fingers fluttered over her pregnant belly and she sighed because for all the times she'd invited Emma's caress, it was only now that there was something precious to be felt, Regina found she recoiled from the other woman in self-conscious discomfort.

"I've never experienced this before," Regina tried again, taking a step towards Emma. "Henry was a baby when I adopted him but this is…it's different. It's new. It's – "

"It's hard for you, isn't it?" Emma spoke for the first time, her voice low and steady. "I mean, it's amazing and wonderful and shit, Regina, you're growing a human **being** in there." She pointed towards Regina's belly with a finger and then drew it back, folding her arms across her chest.

"When I was pregnant with Henry, having a kid was kinda the last thing I wanted and I never took time to…you know…feel him. In **me**, I mean. Just feel him in there. So I get how it is for you."

"**Do** you?" Regina laughed bitterly, rolling her eyes and trying hard to dispel the surge of emotion in her throat, sudden and dry and clenching at her esophagus.

"Yeah, I do," Emma said softly. She moved in close now, trailing her fingers down Regina's arms until she could take the other woman's hands in her own, fingers interlinking. "Listen, Regina, it's okay to be scared of it. God knows, I was terrified. I was a kid myself. But here's the thing, it's okay to enjoy it, too."

"Ah, yes," Regina remarked drolly, although her thumb traced a repetitive line over the back of Emma's hand, over and over across skin that was surprisingly soft, "because the morning sickness, the back pain, the ability to burst into tears at nothing at all…that's a **complete** joy."

"Oh, I dunno. Personally, I'm finding that last one kinda fun," Emma said, but the corner of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin that Regina couldn't help returning. And there it was: the rush of feeling that she'd tried to quell for so long, that explosion of pure love and pure light that she'd told herself was gone forever and would never return. But it was there in Emma's eyes and in her touch; it was in the hugs that Henry freely offered and the misspelt texts he'd send her on his lunch break at school. It all burgeoned into a huge ball of such unutterable feeling that Regina swallowed hard over it and her lips trembled as she tried – and failed – to respond.

"I want this kid – our baby – more than **anything**," Emma said, gaze drifting downwards. "I want to feel it growing and I want to feel **you** because I never thought this would happen, not like this and not with…not with someone who wants it as much as I do, you know?"

She looked up and her eyes met Regina's in tacit understanding. Then Emma shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by her confession, by her inability to protect herself from what had overwhelmed them both. Pulling her fingers from Regina's, Emma's brow crinkled as she wondered – not for the first time – how all this had happened; how she'd been born a Savior but had been herself saved by a little boy and his adoptive mother, steeped in hurt and pain and loss.

Her hand was caught, held tightly in Regina's fingers and Emma let out a tiny noise of surprise as she watched her palm be placed firmly on the swell of a pregnant belly. Regina's hand spread over it, pressing down and holding Emma's hand in position and, by the time their eyes met, Emma could see tears of gratitude shining back at her.

"I do," Regina said, her voice graveled as she felt Emma's hand, warm and vital even through the apron and the clothes she was wearing. "I **do** want it as much as you."

XxxXxxXxxXxx

They're arguing about something inconsequential, which is how it always starts these days. Sometimes Emma feels like Regina prowls the house, searching for the infinitesimal spark that will light the flame of her anger. Regina always used to be angry, and Emma's seen her lip curled in derision more times than she cares to remember. But there's a desperation to it now, like Regina will never truly taste again the happiness she used to savor so much. Emma knows that it was there because she saw it – she _felt_ it in Regina's touch, in the tone of voice she used when it was just them, in the sidelong looks they'd share when Henry was babbling about his day at school or when they were sitting in companionable silence in front of the television at night.

It was _there_.

But now it's gone, and Emma's at a loss as to how to get it back. She used to laugh at how Henry called her their Savior, at his belief that she could bring back all their happy endings. But it's easy to indulge in something like that when things are going well. It's easy to believe when reality backs it up.

These days, all Emma wants is to be the Savior, to wield whatever sort of magic is at her fingertips and take away the dark cloud that's descended over their house.

"Look," Emma says, as Regina shoots her a thunderous look. "why are we even arguing? I mean, what are we even arguing about?"

Regina's nostrils flare and, down by her sides, she clenches her hands into fists. "When you start paying attention," she snarls, "then perhaps we can have a discussion. But until then – "

"A discussion?" Emma bites, starting to lose her temper even though she'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't; made a solemn vow that she would exercise patience and tolerance. But Regina would try the patience of a saint and Emma's no sanctified deity. In fact, she's pretty sure that should she take the bait that Regina is so clearly dangling in front of her, she'll pitch headfirst into the depths of Hell itself. "This isn't a discussion and it won't **ever** be, Regina, because you don't want to talk about what really matters. You'd rather pick away at us until there's nothing left so you won't have to ever, ever deal with shit!"

Emma winces at the volume of her voice as it rings in the room and she's on the verge of apologizing when she's reminded of why she was shouting in the first place and irritation roils in her stomach, bubbling at the base of her throat, acidic and sour.

"Until we talk about what's **really** bothering you, we're just going to keep doing this. Is that what you want?" she demands.

Regina is silent, but her jaw is hard and there's a muscle ticking high up on her cheek. Her chest is heaving with increasingly quickening breaths and her cheeks are flushing crimson. If Emma didn't know better, she'd suspect that Regina is having a panic attack. But that can't be right because Regina doesn't panic, not once. Not _ever_. Not even when she –

Emma stops herself, but not quickly enough to stem the wave of sadness that floods her entire body. As she opens her mouth to speak, she can see the same hurt reflected in Regina's eyes, tendrils of pain spreading out across the planes of Regina's face, contorting it into a mask of hard, brittle sorrow. Emma's chest tightens and burns, but she's afraid that if she backs down now – again – then they'll only return to this point tomorrow, or the next day, or at whatever point in the future Regina chooses to try and assuage her grief with rage.

"Regina, you have to – " Emma begins, but Regina holds up a hand, shaking her head abruptly. There's a second where she might relent, where Emma thinks they might find their way back to one another if only this dam could break. Then Regina lifts her chin, glaring at Emma in silent rebuke, turns on her heel and rushes from the room.

"That's right! Run away! That's what you always do!" Emma bellows, even though she knows nothing can come of attack – nothing ever _did_ come of it other than the tangle of emotions that took years for both of them to figure out.

Emma knows where she's gone, and it's with a slow, trudging step that she climbs the staircase and rounds the corner leading to the landing above. She passes Henry's room, then the one she shares with Regina and stops by the door at the end of the hall. Head hanging low, Emma reaches for the handle, twists it, then enters.

They chose this room because it overlooks the garden. Even from the door, Emma can see the sway of trees outside and hear the faint sound of birdsong. The room is a dusky yellow, chosen by Henry because he said it would be an appropriate color for a boy or a girl, and they let him make the decision on décor because it was their way of including him. In fact, Emma thinks to herself as she closes the door behind her with a soft click, they'd never felt more like a family unit than when Regina was pregnant. It was a way of heralding a newer, more vital and fulfilling part of all their lives.

The baby had been their hope, just as Emma had been Snow and Charming's. Just as Henry had been Regina's.

But when hope is lost, there's a part of the soul that fades and disappears, and Emma wonders at how Regina manages to stand upright most days. Because when they lost their hope, Emma wasn't sure either of them could carry on at all.

"Regina," she says gently. "I'm – I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Regina is sitting in the rocking chair by the window, staring out over the garden, her back towards Emma. It's next to the crib that they haven't dismantled, even after all this time. In fact, Emma thinks grimly, looking around the nursery, this entire room stands as a reliquary to the hope that they'd so carefully nurtured between them. Only now, it feels more like a tomb where devotion is paid to a life they never got to experience.

"Regina," Emma says again. "Please…please just…look, you can't keep running away every time we have an argument."

She moves over to the chair and grimaces as the mobile above the crib sways a little. Snow bought it for them and the glass unicorns hanging from it twinkle as they catch the light from outside. Emma loved it and Regina was gracious in her acceptance, but the sight of it now makes Emma feel sick to her stomach.

"Do you want me to go away?" Emma whispers, reaching out and putting her hand onto Regina's shoulder. The other woman flinches away from her touch and Emma tries not to think that this is how it ends – not with histrionic gestures and demands for her to depart, but with the strained quiet of despondency and surrender. "Do you want me to leave?"

"I want…" Regina begins, then wraps her arms around her torso and bends in the chair, as though there's just too much hurt to contain inside her and she can't – won't – let it out. She gulps in air and shakes her head, still not looking at Emma. "I want to stop feeling this way. I want to tear out my heart so that I can never feel again."

Now she turns, looking up at Emma. Her eyes seem like bottomless pits of blackness, shining onyx in contrast with the sunshine streaming in through the window. She's never seemed more beautiful or more lost and, for a moment, Regina merely gazes at Emma in confusion.

"I had a child," she forces out thickly, "growing inside me. Our baby. A life. And then…nothing. I don't know how to fill the void it's left. I don't know how to stop feeling empty."

Regina's voice shakes, then stops. She angrily brushes a tear from the corner of one eye, her mouth pressing into a firm line of resistance. When Emma kneels down in front of her, Regina looks away because seeing her own grief reflected in stormy green is too much to bear, too much to feel without discorporating from the potency of it.

"I run away from you because I don't want you to see me cry," Regina says, eyes fixed on her lap where her fingers twist against one another, wringing out every last drop of weakness. "I don't want to cry at **all**, Emma."

"It's okay, though," Emma soothes, and she puts a hand onto Regina's knee for comfort, for some sort of contact. "It's okay to cry, Regina."

"No," Regina says quickly, firmly, shaking her head. "No, it's not. Because if I start to cry, I might never stop."

Emma cocks her head onto one side and reaches out, putting her fingers beneath Regina's chin. She lifts the other woman's head so that their eyes meet and she sighs at the heavy, worn expression on Regina's face. If she was the Savior, then she'd be able to make it go away. If she was the Savior, she'd be able to bring back that happy ending.

But she can't. And Emma isn't certain that anything – much less her own paltry, inadequate attempts at love – ever will.

"Do you want me to go?" she asks again. "Will it help, I mean? If I leave?"

She doesn't realize she's holding her breath until Regina's hand creeps over her own, and Emma exhales relief in a rush of air that somehow becomes a sob, clutching at her throat.

"No," Regina says. "Don't go."

XxxXxxXxxXxx


	2. 2: Walking Through Crowds Alone

**Chapter 2: Walking Through Crowds Alone**

The veritable mountain of cupcakes move to one side, revealing Snow's bright, shining face. Regina sighed inwardly and her fingers tensed around the edge of the door, but she pasted a gracious smile onto her face because she was trying. That's what she'd promised Emma and Henry, and she was keeping to her word – even if it was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. They might not be in Fairy Tale Land anymore and Snow's claim of royalty was to a throne that no longer existed; but the facets of the personality that Regina had all but eradicated with her curse had returned full force, and Regina was finding it almost impossible to resist searing them out of the woman in front of her every time they met with a well-aimed fireball.

Although, she reminded herself, eyeing the basket of cupcakes and feeling her mouth water most unexpectedly, one couldn't choose a family. And if Snow was to be part of hers again, then she was forced into grudgingly accepting it. That knowledge alone made her smile waver a little and Regina blamed her raging hormones for even considering clemency when it came to Snow White.

"I thought you might be hungry," Snow gushed, stepping over the threshold and wandering into the hallway. "I remember when I was pregnant with Emma I developed a taste for sweet things. Couldn't get enough of them."

She turned and proffered another huge smile towards Regina, who merely inclined her head and closed the front door, leaning heavily against it. These visits were becoming something of a regularity and Regina couldn't decide whether they were of Snow's own volition, or whether the woman was under instruction from Emma to keep an eye on her. Either way, Regina wasn't entirely sure that she approved of being the object of such close inspection. When they were enemies, it had been easy to vilify Snow and keep her where she belonged in that bitter part of Regina's heart where love had died and emotion had dessicated into dust.

Now, however, things weren't as clear cut. _Nothing_ was. Because Snow, despite their history, had been nothing but supportive of her daughter. Well, Regina smirked to herself, after the initial histrionics and floods of tears that The Savior could have fallen in love with The Evil Queen, that was. It probably wasn't politic, but Regina had rather enjoyed that part.

"I also brought over some herbal tea," Snow gestured to somewhere inside the basket and jerked her head towards the kitchen. "It's meant to be restorative and soothing. Shall I boil some water while you put the cakes on a plate?"

"Be my guest," Regina sighed and gestured with a rather grand sweep of her hand towards the back of the house. She followed the other woman into the kitchen where Snow seemed alarmingly at home, bustling around to fill the kettle and pull some cups from the cupboard. Regina sat down at the kitchen table, lowering herself carefully into a seat and sighing with relief as she stretched out her legs beneath it.

She watched Snow for a minute, wondering how the woman knew where things were. God knows, _she'd_ never willingly invited Snow over for dinner, or coffee, or anything at all. It occurred to her that, in the time that she and Emma had been together, somehow Snow had become accustomed to visiting the house. And not only that, she'd become familiar with it. With _them_.

A pang of emotion resonated in her chest and Regina winced over it. It wasn't wholly unpleasant, the feeling of amnesty; it might have even teetered towards forgiveness in the benevolent looks that Snow gave her and the mound of cupcakes sitting on the table. But Regina had been fooled by false emotions before and allowed them to lull her into a false sense of security.

She wouldn't be fooled again. Not by Snow White, anyway.

"Here," Snow placed a steaming cup of liquid in front of Regina and then slid into the chair opposite, wrapping her hands around a similarly hot mug. "It's dandelion leaf," she explained. "It's meant to help late in the pregnancy when fluid retention is an issue."

"Fluid retention?" Regina repeated incredulously. "Well, how **kind** of you to notice," she added acerbically. But she glanced down at her ankles, noticing that they were woefully thick and trying not to let it exacerbate the prickle of irritation at the back of her neck. Leaning forwards, Regina sniffed at the tea, then sipped it. Rearing back in her chair, she pushed the cup away from her, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Really, Snow," she intoned in a low voice, "if you'd wanted to poison me, I'm sure I could have come up with something less distasteful than this bile."

"That bad?" Snow's eyebrows rose and she peered into Regina's cup before sighing and shaking her head. "I mean, I researched on the internet and everything…"

She looked so disconsolate that Regina couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity which, thankfully, disappeared as quickly as it had manifested. Folding her arms over her chest, Regina glared at the cup and the offending tea inside it before pursing her lips and letting out a noise of dissatisfaction.

"I'm not drinking it," she said bluntly, then narrowed her gaze and glowered at Snow. "Fluid retention or no fluid retention."

"I guess…I could make coffee?" Snow suggested. "Are you allowed coffee?"

Regina snorted. "I'm allowed whatever I like, dear. I'm pregnant, not infirmed."

Snow gave her a tiny smile and pushed back her chair, hurrying over to the kettle once more where she began to make coffee, pulling the tin from the cupboard. Regina noted with a slight flare of her nostrils that Snow appeared to know where _that_ was, too. But it was the other woman's attentive nature that stuck in her craw and she couldn't help frowning as Snow clinked china and a spoon together.

"Did you say that you researched on the internet?" Regina asked, as Snow returned to the table and placed a mug of coffee in front of her. Lifting it to her mouth, Regina closed her eyes briefly and luxuriated in the taste of it. She'd given up a lot of things since discovering she was pregnant, but coffee, she'd told Emma in no uncertain terms, was _not_ going to be one of them.

"I did," Snow nodded, grabbing a cupcake and unwrapping it, holding it up in front of her mouth as she acquired a rather more thoughtful expression and cocked her head to one side. "I was trying to…well, I was trying to help. You **and** Emma," she added hastily, as Regina's eyes widened in alarm.

"I see," Regina murmured, sipping at her coffee and humming gratefully at the taste.

Snow looked across the table at the woman who had been the bane of her existence for so many years. It had been easy to hate Regina – who she'd become, what she'd done. It might _still_ be easy to hate her had she not been transformed. Snow had said so to Charming and even mentioned it to Emma before, although their reactions had been polar opposites of one another and she'd made a vow to herself that if she was _ever_ going to talk about love with her daughter again, then it would be in a non-specific way that didn't engender peals of awkward laughter and the sort of eye-rolling that had made Snow blush self-consciously.

The truth of the matter was that Snow didn't hate Regina anymore. And, in retrospect, she wasn't sure that she ever really _had_. The weighty, hard stone of feeling in her chest when it came to the other woman had simply disappeared. In its place was something new – not quite friendship and definitely not the love she'd harbored for Regina as a child. But it was lighter and easier to feel these days. And who was to say that it wouldn't become something akin to love, in time?

"Regina," Snow began slowly, as two dark eyes looked directly at her and she shifted under the intensity of their gaze. "I know we're not friends, exactly – "

"Not exactly, no," Regina cut in, rather pleased to see that she could still make Snow a little nervous, a little afraid. But it was a fleeting pleasure that had no recompense, no purpose and no consequence other than to enable Regina to assert herself. But as what? She was no longer the Evil Queen and no longer wished to obliterate Snow from the face of this world – of _any_ world. As she gave Snow a tight smile, Regina couldn't help feeling a little confused because without her hatred for Snow, then what _were_ they to one another?

"Not friends, exactly," Snow repeated, picking at the cupcake and squeezing a piece of it between finger and thumb. "But you and Emma…that's something that I simply don't have an explanation for."

"Do you require one?" Regina asked, one eyebrow arching above a steady gaze.

"Not really," Snow shrugged, and popped the piece of cake into her mouth where she chewed on it a couple of times before swallowing and licking at her lips. "I mean, she's happy. Henry's happy. You know that, don't you?"

There was a hint of challenge in the hazel eyes that looked at Regina before Snow blinked and drew in a breath, letting it out in a little sigh. If this was a test, Regina thought, then it was an odd sort of quiz – one to which she couldn't possibly determine an answer. Happiness was such a nebulous emotion, as different for each and every person as were the situations that gave rise to it. But when Regina thought about the way she, Emma and Henry had settled into a life that seemed more of a gift than anything else, she knew that _she_ was happier than she'd ever been before.

"Regina," Snow urged, putting the cupcake down onto the kitchen table and frowning across at the other woman. "You **do** know that, right?"

Of all the people to whom Regina imagined revealing the contents of her heart, Snow had never been one of them. Still wasn't. But candor and truth bubbled up into Regina's throat and she averted her gaze, looking down at the table and her coffee, half-drunk, on its surface.

"I don't…no. I don't know that."

Snow's eyes flew wide open and she let out a disappointed gasp of air. By the time she'd gathered her thoughts enough to speak and opened her mouth, Regina held up a hand to silence her.

"Snow, dear, we've known one another a long time," Regina said, her fingers worrying together on the table top. "And I think you and I both know that my ability to make **anyone** happy disappeared years ago. Whatever Emma and Henry feel isn't because of me. Now, you can ply me with all the dandelion tea and pretty cakes that you want as a gesture of goodwill, but don't be naïve enough to imagine that it's for any other reason than the simple fact that you want to keep Emma and Henry safe."

"Safe?" Snow shook her head and blinked rapidly, bewildered. "Safe from **what**?"

Regina looked at Snow and her gaze was steady, unwaveringly hard. "From **me**, Snow. Your sworn enemy, remember?"

Silence wrapped itself around them and Snow's mouth open and closed a few times until she snapped it shut and sat upright in the chair, assuming that pious, self-righteous posture that Regina had seen countless times before. Steeling herself, Regina gripped her coffee cup so tightly that she could feel the pattern around the side pressing against her skin. She didn't need another lecture from Snow White on the vagaries of good and right; it was too late to do anything about that now, anyway.

"Alright," Snow finally said, clasping her hands together on the table. "I know I came here with tea – albeit horrid tea that you won't drink but we'll try to forget about that – and cakes that I made especially for you, Regina, but I'm going to say something that people just shouldn't say to a pregnant woman."

"Oh?" Regina asked, fixing Snow with a rather stentorian glare. "And what's that, dear?"

"You're stupid," Snow blurted.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, you're stupid, Regina. You're – you're still stuck in that place where nothing ever changes while all around you, everything **has** changed…**everything**! And the thing that's changed the most…the person who's changed the most is **you**, Regina." Snow's voice rose vehemently and Regina shrank back a little, afraid to hear the truth, afraid to believe in it.

"You make Emma happy. You make Henry happy. And you do it because you know what's important now. You love them."

"Snow, I – "

"No, Regina! Stop trying to deny it. You're going to have a baby and that's just…it's the most…I'm **so** happy for you, and for Emma, and for Henry. We're not enemies anymore, don't you see? We're **family**, Regina. A **real** family."

"Snow, please!"

Regina's voice was a little shrill, a little frightened. Regina pushed back her chair and staggered to her feet. One hand clutched at her belly, the other reaching out blindly into the air. She might have fallen if Snow hadn't have rushed to her side, one arm curling around her and supporting her, lifting her up.

The women stared at one another, closer than they'd been for decades.

"Oh, Snow," Regina groaned, face tight with pain as she pressed her palm to her pregnant stomach, "I think there's something wrong."

XxxXxxXxxXxx

It's late when Regina comes to bed and Emma is almost asleep. She's lying on her side, facing away from the center of the bed. Regina's bedroom is luxurious, the bed linen even more so, but the high count sheets have seemed ever colder lately, as has the bed itself. Emma used to lie awake until Regina slipped beneath the bedclothes and then their bodies would gravitate towards one another, but now it feels like there are miles between them: a distance that simply can't be traversed or reduced.

The bed moves as Regina gets into it and Emma shivers a little. She misses the way their bodies used to fit together. She misses curling her arm around Regina and feeling the bump of their baby. She misses the way that sometimes, in the dead of night, she'd wake to a fluttering movement beneath her palm and thrill to know that they were nurturing a new life between them.

The memory of it sticks in her throat and Emma holds her breath until the urge to cry has dissipated. By the time she lets it out, she's got her emotions under control. More or less.

A hand in the center of her back makes her jump, and then there's Regina behind her, sweeping hair from her neck before lips are pressed against it. It's an overture Emma recognizes but she's momentarily taken aback. Physical affection between them has been scarce; sexual activity non-existent. But as Regina kisses her neck again, this time lingering and darting the tip of her tongue into the hollow beneath Emma's ear, there's no mistaking the intent.

Emma turns and sees Regina looming over her in the darkness. She can barely make out the other woman's face, but Regina's eyes are gleaming in the scant light: avaricious and full of tenebrous hunger.

"Are you okay?" Emma asks, and wants to kick herself for how innocent she sounds because their sexual liaisons were always anything but, and to pretend that they might be now is downright ridiculous.

Regina lets out a low chuckle and throws a leg over Emma's, hoisting herself up so she can look directly down at the other woman. "I'm fine, dear," she says, trailing a finger down Emma's cheek. "I thought we should make an effort to get things back to normal, don't you?"

"If you're sure," Emma replies. But she doesn't really know what constitutes normal anymore. Not for _them_, anyway. She's spent years trying to fuck away the pain and knows that Regina has, too, in all sorts of ways. But she can't help the way her body responds as Regina presses down on it and an agonized groan comes from her throat before she's possessed of the wherewithal to prevent it.

"I'm sure I want you," Regina murmurs, bending to nuzzle Emma's ear. Her breath is hot and damp; she smells of the lotion she applies every night before bed and Emma sucks in a lungful of air as lust rockets down her spine and into her abdomen. Regina laughs softly against her neck and Emma's arms are suddenly around the other woman, tugging her into an embrace as they roll together.

"I thought it might be too soon," Emma rasps, "and I didn't want to – I mean – "

"Emma," Regina interrupts, lifting her head from where she's been sucking on Emma's pulse point with increasing urgency, "shut up, won't you?"

She bends and kisses Emma, her tongue pushing past the soft pads of lips to tangle with the blonde's. Emma whines and wraps her arms tightly around Regina before one of her hands slithers up the other woman's back to plunge into thick locks of hair. Winding them around her fingers, Emma pulls hard until Regina is forced to break the kiss and they stare at one another, breathless. Regina's lips are wet and inviting, her face inscrutable. Whether this is right or wrong, Emma's stomach dips and leaps as she bends her knee and Regina bears down on it.

The moan that escapes Regina's throat is nothing short of delirious, resonating in Emma's ears. She clenches her fingers and feels her nails scrape against Regina's scalp as she grasps the other woman's hair and yanks on it hard enough to elicit a growl of pain and annoyance. But rather than freeing herself, Regina grinds down with her hips, the fingers of one hand scrabbling beneath Emma's tank top until they find a nipple, already hard. Regina pinches it between finger and thumb; Emma bucks and lets out a breathy cry as she arches up into Regina's touch.

With one forceful, fluid motion, Emma unbalances Regina, throwing the other woman back onto the bed. She's astride Regina in a trice, straddling the other woman's hips and letting go of her hair to wrap her fingers around slender, delicate wrists.

"That's it," Regina whispers hoarsely, as Emma forces her hands back onto the pillow where they thud down on either side of her head. "This is how I want you, Emma."

There's a glimmer of something deep within Regina's eyes that Emma hasn't seen for years. She's suddenly flooded with a myriad of memories from their antagonistic past; how every argument, every battle, every hard won victory over one another was steeped in a longing that neither of them even recognized until it was upon them. Confrontation was their foreplay, their courtship and their communication.

Somewhere along the way it had simply disappeared.

Emma demurs slightly and her grip around Regina's wrists loosens, but the other woman's hips cant upwards, almost unseating Emma.

"Like this," Regina says, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. "Just like this."

There's something desperate about the way she's moving under Emma now, hips rocking from side to side as though she's propelled by some monstrous need that's bursting out of her. Emma can't help but want Regina; she always did and always will. So as she presses Regina's wrists back into the pillow, Emma bares her teeth in the darkness and grinds down onto Regina's hips, letting herself feel the want that she's held back for so long. She can feel herself growing wetter, the throbbing between her thighs aching throughout her entire body. Emma knows that she's missed this. Craved it.

Letting go of one of Regina's hands, Emma pushes her fingers down between their bodies until they crawl past the waistband of Regina's pajamas, over the softness of a belly and down into wiry hairs. Further down, her fingertips slide between flesh and into a hot, slick wetness that closes around Emma's caress as she pushes deeper. She lets go of Regina's other wrist now, hand splaying out on the bed for balance as she begins to thrust in and out. Somewhere above her head Regina keens and groans as her hips begin to rock back and forth.

"Harder," Regina hisses through clenched teeth, reaching out and pushing Emma's tank top up so that she can touch the lean, muscular lines of the blonde. As Emma's head hangs down and tendrils of hair whisper over the silk of her pajamas, Regina hooks her fingers into claws and rakes her nails down Emma's ribs.

Emma lets out a noise that's half protest, half entreaty, and writhes atop Regina but never once slows down, never relents. She pushes her fingers inside Regina up to the knuckle and curls them around, seeking the fleshy, sensitive spot that makes Regina rise from the bed and dig her nails into Emma's skin once more.

They're a tumbling, fumbling mess; tangled limbs and unintelligible words as Emma grits her teeth and dares look up at Regina. The other woman is wide-eyed and breathless, her mouth opening and closing over a language that's beyond her ken. Emma curls her fingers once more, pressing their tips into the flesh beneath them and Regina stares at her like she's a stranger, surprise and terror flashing across her features before she clutches at Emma, her shoulders rising from the bed.

She begins to tremble, hips jerking of their own accord as she teeters on the edge of the abyss, then Regina starts to cry out. She's not usually so unchecked, not normally without even a shred of restraint. And even though they both know that Henry is just down the hallway, Regina's cries begin to increase in volume until Emma is forced to lift a hand and place it over her mouth. She can feel heaving breaths warming her palm; she can see the sheer abandon in Regina's eyes and there's a part of her that wonders if Regina needs this, if she's forcing herself to feel something – feel _anything_ in place of the nothingness that's claimed her for so many months.

Regina's hands bump against Emma's arms, flutter over her shoulders and fingers grasp at her neck as release overtakes her. Emma can feel Regina's body pulsating around her touch, muscles contracting and keeping her in place until the body beneath her own descends into a quivering jumble of all that should offer respite and take away the pain for a little while, at least.

Panting, Emma feels her heart clattering against her ribcage and tries to control it with little success. It's only when she looks down at Regina that she realizes her hand is still over the other woman's mouth. It's only when she leans down that she can hear the short, breathless gasps behind her hand and see the way Regina's shoulders are jerking up and down.

Snatching her hand away, Emma rolls onto her side and props herself up on one arm, terrified that she's done something wrong, that she's caused this. She catches the glisten of a tear falling from the corner of Regina's eye and her fear increases, shooting an icy dread down the center of her body.

"Shit," she mutters, ready to berate herself. "Did I – shit, Regina – did I hurt you?"

Regina gulps and more tears trickle down her cheeks in quick succession. But she says nothing and instead begins to cry softly, painfully, with the sort of sorrow that Emma has only ever seen glimpses of. But it's in full force now, unstoppable, the dam that was holding it back broken to pieces. And so is Regina.

Emma reaches out instinctively, pulling Regina towards her. Regina resists for a second until Emma's hand is on her hair and Emma's mouth is murmuring platitudes against her brow and Emma's strength and warmth and solidity is all she can feel and all she can understand right now. Regina sobs into Emma's chest; it's oddly cathartic, somehow.

"I'm sorry," Emma murmurs, as they inch closer together so that there's barely any space between them at all and apologies are all they really have to distinguish one from the other. "I'm so, **so** sorry."

XxxXxxXxxXxx


	3. 3: The Glow From Her Eyes

**Chapter 3: The Glow From Her Eyes**

Emma held Regina's hand in the absence of knowing what else to do. She thought that physical proximity might offer comfort; that perhaps her touch might remind Regina that they'd _both_ lost something. But the minutes of silence between them turned into hours wherein all that could be said fell by the wayside in light of what they could never truly put into words. Regina fell into a sporadic, uneasy slumber, head pressed back against the pillow and her grasp on Emma's fingers slackening as she drifted off.

The sounds of the hospital outside the room seemed to fade into a constant white noise that held little coherence and even less relevance. It was just where they had to be. Just where they were: a place neither of them could bear to look at, let alone acknowledge.

Regina drew in a breath, opening her eyes and blinking drowsily at the stark décor of the hospital room. Comprehension dawned on her face like the encroaching shadows at twilight and she let out a tiny, disconsolate noise before she looked down at her hand, Emma's fingers still curled around it.

"Oh," Regina said quietly. "I thought perhaps it was a…a dream."

She turned her head a little on the pillow and stared at Emma before her lips twisted. "Turns out it was a nightmare."

"Regina…" Emma said, but any platitudes she might have offered stuck in her throat as Regina turned her head away on the pillow and gazed sightlessly across the room.

"I want to wake up," she said in a distant voice, dulled by medication and the way time seemed protracted around them, smothering them in a blanket of sterilized sorrow. "I just want this to be a nightmare and not be real."

As Regina's voice was cut short by a sob that she gulped back, Emma felt as though her heart was breaking inside her chest; shattering into the pieces that Regina and Henry had so carefully put back together. It was odd, how she could grieve over something they'd never really had; someone who'd touched their lives without ever being born into them. She blinked back tears that were prickling at the back of her eyes, clearing her throat and letting her gaze sweep around the room as though searching for a distraction.

She found one in the bright splash of color by Regina's bed and rubbed her thumb over the back of the other woman's hand as she tried to gather herself enough to speak.

"Henry took twenty minutes picking out those flowers," she said, nodding towards the bouquet that was in a vase on the bedstand. "He wanted to get them just right."

At the mention of their son, Regina turned her head on the pillow and smiled weakly at Emma. But her gaze was listless and dull, her hand still limp in Emma's.

"He can't wait to have you home," Emma said gently. A tiny frown burrowed between her brows as she let out a little sigh and shook her head. "I can't either. The bed feels…it feels empty without you in it. With me."

She pressed her lips together and wondered at how the simplest of confessions were the hardest ones to make. But in all their time together, she and Regina had balked at the sort of language that Snow and Charming employed to make grand, sweeping declarations of love. It wasn't like that for them, Emma thought. Their love had been hard fought, snatched from the jaws of impending doom and created in a crucible of fire and magic. Whatever alchemy was at work had joined them together irrevocably and Emma felt as though she'd never really experienced love until it had come gasping from her lips under Regina's expert, cruel, impossibly intoxicating hands.

Her parents had talked of love as some sort of blessing: the greatest and most powerful emotion in all the world. But, today, Emma couldn't help but imagine that it was some sort of curse. Because when all she wanted was to give to Regina something that had been lost forever, how could it possibly be a blessing, knowing that she'd never be able to replace what was gone?

"I love you, Regina," Emma blurted, breaking the silence that had fallen down around them.

Regina blinked at her, a dark gaze misted suddenly by the temptation of tears. She inclined her head, chin dropping down onto the plain, horrid cotton of the hospital gown she wore.

"I know you do, dear."

"We'll get through this, you know."

Regina smiled again, but this time it was more indulgent, kinder and softer. Her gaze roamed Emma's features, tracing lines that she'd memorized in moments when nobody else had been looking. But _she_ had. Regina had _always_ looked at Emma – always seen her, too. And she'd seen Emma's truest self when no one else had. Before they'd been a couple, it had always seemed such a terrible burden to bear, for those who looked at Emma had only ever seen what they wanted to, including her own parents.

Gazing at her now, Regina could see all that Emma was; all that she might be to a broken queen and a boy who loved her. She could also see the strain on those features, how Emma loved beyond her capacity to understand it and how that love meant she felt this pain more keenly than anyone else save for Regina herself.

"Yes, dear," Regina said slowly. "I'll be fine."

"That's not what I meant," Emma said, jaw hardening.

"I realize that," Regina told her, "but if you think I'm going to subject myself to therapy and sharing my feelings, then you're mistaken. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to have to relive it over and over to make other people feel better when I know that I won't…I won't **ever** feel better about this, Emma. So I'll be fine. That's what people want to hear."

"I'm not **people**, Regina!" Emma leaned forwards in her chair, clenching Regina's hand in both of her own. "And I'm not interested in what other people do or don't feel. I'm interested in you, and me, and Henry. In our **family** – don't you see that?"

"Our **family**," Regina said deliberately, as though she was speaking to a small child, "has been scarred by this."

"No," Emma protested, shaking her head vehemently and peering up into Regina's face. "Because we still have each other. We still have what we've worked so hard for. You, me and Henry," she repeated, as though it were a mantra that could offer succor to them both.

Regina stared into Emma's eyes, seeing them glitter with unshed tears, and guilt – an unfamiliar emotion – bloomed in her chest, taking root in the pit of her stomach. She licked at her lips with a dry tongue and tried to fathom what it was she'd done to deserve this sort of devotion. And how unworthy of it she really was.

"But I've failed you and Henry," Regina finally said. She could hear her own voice: pitiful and weak, as she was. "I gave you a promise that I couldn't keep – a life that I couldn't…I didn't…"

Her throat ached and she felt it constrict around the words, quelling the apology that she so desperately wanted to offer. Because if this wasn't _her_ fault, then whose was it? If she'd been better, been less vengeful, been more of the woman that she once was before revenge claimed her soul, then whatever higher power had seen fit to take their baby from her would have offered clemency, wouldn't it? For all the talk of Fate and Destiny that Henry liked to believe in, Regina was convinced now more than ever that hers was stained in blood and loss and death. And it would forever be so, no matter how much she loved Henry and Emma and allowed them to love her in return.

"I wanted to give you this," Regina forced out thickly. "You never knew Henry as a baby – you never got to see his first step, hear his first word, see him learn to ride a bike or write his name. I wanted you to be this baby's mother in **every** way, Emma. I wanted to give you the thing I took away from you."

"You didn't – Regina – you **didn't**!" Emma said, eyes wide in horror, heart pounding in comprehension. "And I didn't want this baby to be some sort of second chance for me."

"Then what **did** you want it to be?" Regina asked, turning to Emma with tear-filled eyes and a downturned mouth.

"I wanted it to be for us," Emma told her firmly. "For **all **of us. I don't need second chances to put things right because you and Henry did that for me. It doesn't matter what's in the past because you and he gave me a future. And this baby – **our** baby – was going to be part of that."

Regina let out a shaky breath, mouth working over the anguish that pulled at it and the desire to let it out, to cry and rail against the world until she vanished from the surface of it.

"I let you down," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry."

"**Stop **it!" Emma growled, as Regina looked at her in sudden surprise. "Stop talking like that. It's not – it's not what this is about. I'm not going to blame you for something you haven't done. And we can try again. We can always try again, if that's what you want."

"Try again?" Regina stiffened before sinking back into the bed, her head thudding against the pillow as she closed her eyes again and a few tears trailed down her cheek, shining in the harsh lighting of the hospital room. "Try again, she says."

"If that's what you want," Emma repeated firmly, her fingers grasping at Regina's hand, suddenly feeling cold and lifeless in her grip. "I just…Regina, I want you to be happy. I want **us** to be happy."

Regina turned away now, staring out across the room as her free hand lifted and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't let Emma see her cry. She would hide her grief just as she'd done before, all those years ago. And when she was alone – truly alone – she would let it sweep over her. But until then, she would do whatever it took to hold back the tide, as futile and pointless as such efforts might be.

"I'll be fine," she said in a cold, empty voice. "I'll be fine."

XxxXxxXxxXxx

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this," Regina comments in a husky drawl that sends a thrill down Emma's spine, "but I must remember to thank your mother for having Henry this weekend."

Emma, lying beside her in the bed, stretches lazily and lets out a contented sigh. She looks almost feline: long limbs and eyes narrowed as she looks over at Regina. Propping her head up on one hand, Emma reaches for the plate of strawberries between them, swiping one through the little pot of cream and then biting down on it. The groan that comes from her throat is distinctly salacious, and Regina can't help smiling as she allows herself the luxury of sweeping her gaze down Emma's half-uncovered, naked body. It's really quite decadent, she thinks, being in bed this late in the morning. It smacks of a life she left behind, although any comfort she sought in Fairy Tale Land wasn't nearly as warm and easy as this feels.

She watches hungrily as Emma's tongue, red from the fruit, reaches out to lick at her lips and can't resist leaning over to place a kiss on the plump, sweet flesh that responds to her touch. Emma's tongue reaches out again, but this time it's met with Regina's own and they kiss silently for a few seconds until Emma sighs and leans back a little, eyeing Regina with the sort of satisfied expression that has only recently returned to her face.

"Admit it," Emma murmurs, "this was the best idea ever."

Regina chuckles under her breath and watches Emma take the last strawberry, covered with cream, and pop it into her mouth with a smug grin, taking a succulent bite.

"It's definitely fairly high on the list," she says.

Emma makes a dismissive noise in her throat and dips the strawberry into the cream again, this time holding it up to Regina's mouth. "**Fairly** high," she snorts, as Regina's teeth close over the fruit and Emma's brain shorts out momentarily at the sight.

"In the pantheon of good ideas," Regina says, chewing on the strawberry before swallowing it and humming appreciatively, "it's probably in the top five."

"Oh yeah?" Emma's eyebrows rise and she can't help laughing a little. "Since when did good ideas come in a pantheon? And what's a pantheon, anyway? I mean, who even **says** that?"

Regina gives her a look that's half-reprove and half-loving indulgence. Emma shrugs with the sort of noblesse oblige that she knows both irritates and excites Regina because when they're behind closed doors like this, they can be exactly who they are to one another: exactly who they fell in love with and exactly who they want to be. Nothing else matters when the world is shut outside; Evil Queens and Saviors don't exist in this room and the only magic that takes a hold of them is the sweet taste of serenity.

_And strawberries_, Emma thinks with a faint smile.

"I do," Regina tells her firmly. "I say that. And you might, too, if you ever read anything other than Henry's comic books."

"You know," Emma pushes herself up and leans closer to Regina, "I might take your insults more seriously if you didn't have cream on your chin."

"Where?" Regina's hand flutters around her chin and face as Emma collects a dollop of cream on her forefinger and then smears it over Regina's mouth.

"There," she says, before bursting into peals of laughter at the way Regina's expression goes from offended to horrified to thunderous in one fell swoop.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Emma murmurs, and reaches up, cupping Regina's face in her hand and kissing the other woman soundly, lapping at the cream and the mouth beneath it. Relenting only a little, Regina returns the kiss and sighs softly against Emma's mouth as they move closer.

"You're incorrigible," Regina whispers, as the tip of Emma's tongue whirls in the hollow just beneath her ear. "And I'm assuming you at least know what **that** means."

"Uh huh," Emma says, nuzzling Regina's neck. "It means I'm a pain in your ass."

Regina chuckles again, head lolling back on her neck. It's only when Emma kisses her on the cheek then leans back in the bed that she opens her eyes and looks at the woman beside her. The sun is shining outside, streaming in through the window and casting glaringly bright rays across the dark carpet of their bedroom. But as Emma shoves at her hair, the sunlight catches the tips of it, making the blonde strands seem as though they're aflame, like some sort of halo. For a minute, all Regina can do is stare at Emma, caught in the realization that some Saviors don't reveal themselves until they're needed, until things seem so dark that the only light that can be found comes from within.

"You're staring at me," Emma says, jerking Regina from her reverie and bringing a slight flush to her cheeks. "What – do I have some cream on me? What did I do?"

Regina reaches out and places her palm on Emma's cheek, the blonde leaning towards it, still a little confused.

"You stayed," she tells Emma. "When I thought you'd leave because it was too difficult, you stayed."

Emma frowns as though the mere thought itself is absurd and she blinks at Regina, rendered wordless by the suggestion that leaving could have solved _anything_. Then she lays her hand over Regina's, and rolls her eyes in an attempt to return to something more familiar between them.

"Of **course** I stayed," she shrugs. "I mean, you might know some big, impressive words but when it comes down to it, you're a bit of a dummy sometimes."

"Interesting," Regina comments dryly. "I recall your mother saying something similar to me a while ago."

Emma frees herself from Regina's grasp and flops back onto the bed with a loud, dramatic sigh. "Ugh," she exclaims. "That's now the second time you've mentioned my mother while we're naked in bed."

She turns her head on the pillow and squints up at Regina. "Something you want to tell me?" she asks, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Regina leans over her and Emma catches the scent of the other woman, the way her skin always smells so damn good. Her gaze roams over the curves of Regina's body, lingering on the swell of her breasts and how her form dips into a tiny waist before blossoming out to hips that, if Emma's being honest with herself, drive her crazy with desire even when covered in clothes. Or maybe, she thinks to herself, _especially_ then.

"I love you, Emma," Regina says quietly, and time seems to slow around them, encapsulating them in a perfect, wondrous moment until Emma remembers how to breathe and sucks in a lungful of air.

"Well," she says in a voice thickened by emotion, and wiggles her eyebrows to dispel the gravity of it and how it tightens her chest, "how could you not, right?"

Regina lets out a growl of playful annoyance and shakes her head. But Emma can tell that she wouldn't have it any other way. Neither of them would. And even if the road back to this place has been rocky and dark, it's been one worth travelling. Not all journeys are immersed in happiness, Emma thinks, as Regina swings her legs over the side of the bed and pads across the carpet towards the bathroom. And not all journeys are meant to be easy, either. It's why mornings like this, days like this, are so intrinsically important. Because sometimes, not everyone's meant to be an Evil Queen or a Savior. They just take on those roles because there's nobody to remind them that they can be something else. _Someone_ else.

Emma's pondering if it's worth the effort to go and get more strawberries when there's a shriek from the bathroom that has her leaping from the bed and rushing towards the door. By the time she gets there, Regina is sitting on the side of the bathtub, arms clutched around her torso, bent almost double.

"What's wrong?" Emma cries, almost falling over herself as she kneels in front of Regina. "Shit – Regina! What the **hell** is going on? Are you hurt? Did something happen?" Her hands brush up and down the other woman's arms as she tries to peer up into Regina's face. Finally, putting her fingers beneath Regina's chin, Emma lifts her head and sees tear-stained cheeks, eyes that are wet and lips that are trembling with emotion that's making Regina's shoulders shudder up and down.

"What happened?" she asks urgently, terrified that what can be given can also be taken away; it has been so many times for both of them that Emma thinks they simply can't stand to lose anything else.

"Th-this," Regina manages to say, uncurling her arms and holding something out towards Emma.

There's no mistaking what the object is, nor is there any mistaking the blue line in the middle of it. Emma's hand starts to tremble and she gazes up at Regina, wide-eyed, mouth falling open.

"It's positive," Regina whispers, awe-struck. A fresh wave of tears floods down her cheeks and she swallows visibly, looking at the pregnancy test in Emma's hand. "It's positive," she says again, shaking her head in disbelief.

"But we've only been back on the treatment again for a month," Emma says. "And we said – we said we'd try again but – shit – this is quick, Regina!"

As a fearful look begins to enter Regina's eyes, Emma puts the stick to one side and takes the other woman's hands in her own, holding them tightly enough so that they stop shaking. And then she smiles. She smiles widely, gleefully, feeling happiness rise up through her chest so quickly and with such force that Emma isn't sure she won't just explode from its intensity.

"It's meant to be," she tells Regina, nodding in quick, firm little bobs of her head. "It's just…it's meant to be. That's what it is. We're having a baby."

Regina lets out a long, wavering breath and sniffles as Emma reaches up with one hand and wipes away her tears. It's what she's best at, it seems, and Regina leans into Emma's touch as her shoulders hitch up and down and she tries to will her heartbeat to slow down to a more manageable, less terrifying pace.

"We're having a baby," she finally says, and Emma's face crumples as she begins to cry tears of pure joy.

Emma's arms are around her now and Regina feels safe, protected: all the things she hasn't felt for such a long time that to feel them now is like being reacquainted with an old friend. It's one she receives gladly; one that she's missed. One that she vows never to lose sight of again. Because there is no peace in solitude; there's no respite in loneliness, and this family – _their_ family – is all she's ever really wanted.

Regina turns her head, nestling into the crook of Emma's neck and she feels her restless spirit still, feels that inevitable pain of love hurt a little less. She might get that happy ending after all. Or, she thinks, even better: a happy beginning.

XxxXxxXxxXxx


End file.
